


Working Out the Kinks

by A_Diamond



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Biting, Blindfolds, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bruises, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, Cock & Ball Torture, Developing Kinks, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Fisting, Guilty Pleasures, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masochist Bucky Barnes, NSFW Art, Object Insertion, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Reluctant Sadist, Rope Bondage, Sadistic Steve Rogers, Sexual Dysfunction, Sounding, Steve's Broken Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond
Summary: The thing was, Steve wasn’t ever all the way healthy. His guts didn’t work right and his lungs didn’t work right and his heart didn’t work right; it made a cruel kind of sense that his dick didn’t work right, either.“I wanna hurt you,” he repeated. “I think about it all the damn time. Every time you come and you’re all blissed out and sweet, kissing me and talkin’ sweet like I’m something special, I wonder how much better you’d look if you were crying. Wanna hold you down, even though I know I couldn’t. Punch you up, make you bleed, black your eye—”“Do it.”





	Working Out the Kinks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helahler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helahler/gifts).



> Inspired by the [gorgeous, kinky art of Helahler, masterpost here](http://helahler.tumblr.com/post/174833781554/working-out-the-kinks-fic-by-alxdiamond-ao3) and [here](http://helahler.tumblr.com/post/174850531704/steve-and-bucky-before-the-war-art-for-my) \- thanks so much for creating it, offering it up for the reverse bang, and brainstorming all the terrible ideas little sadist Steve Rogers could come up with. <3

[ ](https://imgur.com/TzYCaRu)

The thing was, Steve wasn’t ever all the way healthy. On a good day he was like a cornered alley cat, skin and bones held together by contrarian spite. Not-so-good days meant hospital beds and frowning doctors and painfully sympathetic nurses, coughs that stole his breath and replaced it with blood or weakness so bad he couldn’t force his eyelids open for more than a few seconds at a time.

Mostly he had the in-between days, though. Days when nothing was trying too hard to kill him, including his own stubborn righteousness, but it also wouldn’t take much more than a stiff breeze to knock him flat. It was a day like that when he gave himself an asthma attack trying to suck Bucky for the first time. And again the second time, and there wasn’t gonna be a third because having Steve choke and gasp for air around his dick made Bucky feel like he was the one who couldn’t breathe.

No matter how hard up he got, he would never be willing to hurt the most important person in his life just to get his dick wet. He had hands, Steve had hands, it was enough for him.

He would’ve been more than happy to do the same and more for Steve, but—Steve wasn’t so healthy. His guts didn’t work right and his lungs didn’t work right and his heart didn’t work right; it made a cruel kind of sense that his dick didn’t work right, either. And though for his own part he didn’t mind so much, Bucky wished he could make Steve feel as good as Steve made him feel, or even a fraction of it.

But Steve just got frustrated when Bucky sucked on him and nothing came of it. Steve, who hated the limitations of his body but never let them stop him if he could help it, pushed Bucky’s head away a few minutes in and said, “Ain’t any use to it, Buck. Nothing’s gonna happen down there.”

Sitting back on his heels, Bucky looked up at Steve’s red cheeks, slightly red eyes, and licked the taste of him from his lips. “Do you like it, though? If it feels nice, it doesn’t matter—”

“Fuck off with your doesn’t matter,” Steve snarled, vicious as any brawl. He kept his eyes locked on Bucky in a hard, challenging stare down as he buttoned himself back into his pants, limp as ever. “Of course it matters. What the hell am I gonna make you do that for if nothing’s gonna come of it? Just keep you down there like a punk in the hope that I’ll get it up before your knees start bleeding?”

Steve went storming off to their room and slammed the door behind him. Left there on his own, Bucky stayed on his knees longer than he should’ve anyway. Not that he was dumb enough to follow Steve and poke at his sore mood, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have had the first clue how to say that it didn’t sound so bad to him.

He had even less idea what it was about that not so bad thought that got him stiffer in his own pants.

  
  


Bucky sat on the bed, tracking Steve’s agitated pacing and trying on words that never made it off his lips. It was no use trying to talk him down when he got like that, especially since Bucky didn’t know what had even got him so worked up. It was barely morning, gray and dark before the sun was really up, and they’d been up half the night fooling around.

Seemed like it had been a good time to Bucky, kissing and petting and rubbing off on Steve’s leg when he was so hard he couldn’t think. But come morning, Steve had woken up and jumped out of bed like all the armies of Hell were after him.

Finally he settled whatever was bothering him and turned to Bucky. His feet were planted and his hands were fisted by his hips, a fighting stance Bucky had seen him shift to a thousand times when he was gearing up to take on a bully or twelve. Never had it with Steve’s dick dangling small and bloodless in the open air between his legs before, though.

“I want you to fuck me,” Steve said, jaw tight and daring Bucky to call his bluff.

Which Bucky did without hesitation. “Bullshit you do.”

Steve’s chin pushed out further; he was gonna be stubborn about it, for no reason Bucky could tell. Not that Bucky knew where any of it was coming from. The topic had come up exactly once, the first time they’d got naked together with an intent behind it—more than just a couple fellas sharing space. Steve got in his space, just as tense and spoiling for a brawl, and shoved a finger in his chest while declaring, “Let’s get one thing clear before you get any ideas here, I ain’t your punk. Don’t expect me to bend over just ’cause I look like this.”

Bucky’d laughed and kissed his fierce scowl and said, “Shit, Rogers, how long’ve I known you? I ain’t no Howard Stark, but gimme credit for some sense even if I ain’t got brains. I know if I try and put anything anywhere you don’t want it, you’re gonna break it off. I’m easy, though, I just need it to be you. Whatever you like, I’m good.” As far as he was concerned, that had settled it.

Clearly not, since Steve demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re full of shit.” Bucky stood. “You were real clear about not wanting that. Maybe I’d buy you changing your mind if you hadn’t looked like you were preparing for a firing squad just now, but you’re a god-awful liar. I ain’t looking to canonize you with my dick, you fucking martyr, so how about you try again.”

Steve’s mulishness didn’t waver. “I reconsidered.”

“Yeah? And what went into that consideration, because it doesn’t seem like it involved your enjoyment much.” Steve opened his contrary mouth, but Bucky rolled right on over him. “I don’t need to stick it in you to stick around, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Snorting, Steve bit out, “Not like I’m good for much else.”

“Hey, shut the fuck up with that.” Bucky grabbed him by the back of the neck and shook him. Leaning in, he knocked his forehead into Steve’s and left it there, sighing. “I’m gone on you, Stevie. For good. What the hell do you think, that I’m gonna do awful shit to you that I know you don’t want?”

Instead of taking the reassurance, Steve pulled away from it, away from Bucky, and hunched in on himself. He looked as small as he was, which had never been true a single day Bucky had known him before.

“We gotta stop,” he told his shoulder. “I’m no good for you, Buck.”

Bucky knew he was gaping like an asshole, but it wasn’t like he could stop. He had no idea where that was coming from, why Steve was trying to—seemed like Steve was trying to end things. When he finally found his voice, he demanded, “Are you kidding me? No good for—Steve, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the best guy I know. Shit, if anything you’re too good for me!”

Shaking his head so violently it moved his whole body, Steve retreated further. “You’re wrong, I’m awful.”

“Sweetheart.” Bucky closed the distance between them, used his larger body to keep Steve from running away. It was a move he’d tried before, one that hadn’t gone over so well. The fact that Steve let him do it didn’t mean anything good. “I’m lost. I honestly got no idea what this is about, and you know I’m real slow, so why don’t you do me a favor and explain it to me.”

“Ain’t nothing more to explain. I’m doing you a favor, here.”

“By breaking my heart? Stevie, I’m so in love with you—”

“I wanna hurt you.”

Bucky’s mouth snapped shut as Steve rose out of his huddle and pushed into his space, actually shoved him in the chest hard enough to rock him back on his heels. “You’re gonna stand there all fuckin’ sweet and tell me you love me, you’re not gonna force me to do anything, it’s fine that poor little Steve’s dick don’t work even though his ass ain’t open either? That’s what love is, right?

“Well joke’s on you,” he snarled, “because I do wanna force you to do things. It’s a good thing I can’t get it up, because I dream about—”

Steve strangled his own words with a hoarse, grieving sound, but filling in the blanks wasn’t hard. That didn’t stop Bucky pushing for it. He needed to hear it. He just—needed.

“Tell me.”

Didn’t seem like Steve noticed how breathless and helpless he was begging for it, though Bucky didn’t see how he coulda missed it. Too caught up in his own head, probably, to compare Bucky’s voice just then to the way he sounded when he was about to blow. But Bucky heard it himself, that desperate anticipation to hear the worst of Steve’s nightmares, and he didn’t know what that said about him. Nothing good.

Hard and bitter, Steve gave him what he asked for. “I wanna hurt you,” he repeated. “I think about it all the damn time. Every time you come and you’re all blissed out and sweet, kissing me and talkin’ sweet like I’m something special, I wonder how much better you’d look if you were crying. Wanna hold you down, even though I know I couldn’t. Punch you up, make you bleed, black your eye—”

“Do it.”

Bucky broke on the words and that was enough to finally drag Steve’s attention out of the angry, guilty nosedive it’d fallen into. His eyes searched Bucky’s face, but he didn’t get it until Bucky croaked again, just as ragged, “Do it,” and shifted on the balls of his feet. That made Steve’s gaze drop down and catch on the proof of his reaction, the way his dick stuck out, hard, full, excited by just the idea of Steve socking him in the face.

“Buck...”

“I want it.” Licking his lips, Bucky swallowed and watched Steve watch it travel down his body. “All that—the stuff you said. You’re not scaring me off. It’s—I mean, it figures, don’t it? Haven’t I always been up for your bad ideas?”

“This one’s real bad.” Even though he didn’t sound too sure of himself, Steve was watching him with hungry eyes and his fist clenched promisingly at his side. “You’re not just saying that to go along with me? Don’t gimme that wide-eye look, you and I both know you would.”

Since it wasn’t like he could honestly deny that accusation, Bucky shrugged it off and reached down, taking Steve’s attention with his hand as he groped himself. “This look like I’m lying?” It passed for a boast, but truth was he was aching to be touched and his own fist would do if Steve wasn’t gonna use his one way or the other.

Steve’s face scrunched in on itself, a whole messy mix of thought and worry and impatience. “Okay,” he said finally. “Okay, Buck. But I need to think about it. I don’t know if I can trust myself.”

“I trust you.”

“Just... Gimme some time.”

He’d give Steve anything. Time wasn’t much to ask, even if he knew Steve was just gonna take it to get all twisted up about things again. They’d work it out—as long as Steve was done trying to get rid of him over it.

“Are we good, though?” he had to ask. “No more of this doin’ me a favor shit?”

Steve rolled his eyes. Not exactly fair, since he’d been spouting that crap less than a minute before, but at least he agreed, “Yeah, bonehead. You wanna be stuck with me, I’m not gonna stop you. If all that ain’t enough to scare you off, ain’t like anything else will be.”

Dropping the hand that wasn’t really doing much anymore from his dick, Bucky leaned over Steve—just to get a good look at him, not using his size like a bully again. “You still wanna scare me off?”

Pink lips catching between his teeth, Steve admitted, “I’d hate it. Can’t imagine loving anyone else in the world like I love you. That’s why this stuff in my head burns me up so bad, you know?”

It burnt Bucky up, too, but not the way Steve meant. “Yeah, but I ain’t worried. You and me together, haven’t we always been ready to fight the whole world? We’re gonna be fine, no matter what. Stop fretting, come back to bed. Come on.”

  
  


He gave Steve time. He gave Steve what he thought was a generous amount of time: two weeks when he didn’t bring it up at all. He didn’t push Steve to do anything they hadn’t done before, didn’t ask what was on his mind when he got broody and dark-eyed staring at Bucky stretched out in their bed, didn’t offer his own thoughts on the kinds of things Steve might want to do to him.

Then he gave him another week, just to see if Steve was really still thinking on it or had moved on to pretending it never happened and hoping Bucky would let it go, too. Steve wasn’t usually the idiot of the two of them—hot-headed and reckless, but not dumb about it—but apparently he’d made this an exception because he was twelve kinds of stupid to think Bucky would drop it so easy.

Even if he weren’t having nighttime fantasies about Steve having his way with him now the option had been raised, he’d never let his guy suffer the way Steve was all too happy to let himself suffer, guilty and ashamed and not even getting good sex out of it.

Steve needed a push, needed Bucky to be the one to start things so he could trust it was real. That Bucky wanted it. Christ did Bucky want it. He wanted it for both of them, for the chance to make Steve feel even a little bit as good as he made Bucky feel—it might not make his dick work, but it sounded like it came from the same place as Bucky’s urges and he got off on it in his head, if not in his pants. That had to be worth something. He wanted it for their relationship, for him not to feel like he was taking advantage and rubbing Steve’s nose in it every time he got Bucky’s spunk on him without being able to get his own back.

And he wanted it for him, because Steve threatening to sock him in the eye was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.

So after he was done giving Steve time, he hung around at work till he was the last one on the pier and cut himself a good-sized hank from the coil of fresh new rope outside the office. It wasn’t really stealing, he figured, since he’d saved old man Sullivan twice as much that day alone by stopping Sergio from trying to untangle a line he’d miscoiled with his knife instead of his fingers.

He brought it home, put it right on top of Steve’s open sketchbook on the table, and said, “Come on, Rogers. Hold me down already.”

Steve stared at it, not breaking away to look at Bucky or even to blink. “Buck?”

“You might be too scrawny to do it, but that’ll hold me.”

After a long, long moment, Steve stopped being frozen in place and dropped his pencil to pick up the rope and run his fingers over the coarse fibers. “And then what?” He sounded dazed. Distracted. Bucky knew he’d been right—Steve hadn’t stopped thinking about it at all. He was just as hungry for it as Bucky was, only he was also torn up about the hunger still.

Bucky planned to fix that. “Anything you want.”

That finally made Steve jerk his head up from contemplating the rope. He scowled his stubbornest scowl, but it had a lot less threat behind it when he couldn’t hide the desire flushing his cheeks. “You can’t just say—”

“Anything,” Bucky stressed. “Hit me. Scratch me, bite me. Make me bloody or bruised, make me cry and beg. Hurt me, Stevie. I’m saying it, but there’s no just about it—I know what I’m saying, I know what I’m asking for, and I want it. I want it as bad as you do, so don’t you fuckin’ doubt me. Hurt me!”

On his feet without another second of hesitation, Steve shoved Bucky in the chest with both hands. Maybe Bucky could’ve resisted, maybe not; Steve was a tiny scrap of a thing, but a scrappier one than the world was ready for and he’d been fighting it since before Bucky even met him. Didn’t matter either way. Bucky stumbled back, let himself hit the wall, because there was no chance he wanted to resist.

“Be sure,” Steve said, so low and dangerous that Bucky couldn’t even accuse him of doubt. It was a threat, pure and dark and shivering down his back into his dick. “I want to break you and I don’t know how to do that without losing you.”

“You’re never going to lose me.” Bucky pushed off the wall, pushed into Steve’s space, pushed his promise into Steve’s mouth. Steve took it, then twisted his hands hard in Bucky’s shirt and pulled him even closer, kept him there and bit down on the lower lip Bucky’d given him so freely. The way Bucky moaned and shuddered into it musta finally done the convincing that Bucky’s words couldn’t, because it wasn’t long until he was naked on the bed and Steve was tying his hands in front of him with knots that would’ve made Sergio and better longshoremen besides jealous.

Once he was satisfied with that, Steve looped the other end around the pipe that rattled half the night above their bed. He didn’t tie it off, and the pipe was shaky enough that even that probably wouldn’t’ve held Bucky if he really wanted to get his hands free; Bucky decided that was something else not worth pushing, at least not yet. Not when Steve was sitting on the bed next to him, hand running over Bucky’s chest and stomach and eyes darting all over his body like he didn’t know where to start.

Bucky didn’t offer suggestions, still just a bit wary of spooking him, but Steve made his own choice and dragged his nails down Bucky’s chest. It stung just enough for Bucky to gasp and arch up, left lines of pink, unbroken skin. The pain was good, hot and sharp and quick, but there was something not quite right about it—bedraggled alleycat or not, he’d never seen Steve scratch anyone in a fight. It felt too controlled, too fake, like Steve was just doing it because Bucky had mentioned the possibility.

“Huh,” said Steve, and when Bucky looked up at his face he was looking right back. “Your dick says you liked that, but your face... Regrets? This too much?”

Shaking his head, Bucky tried to get whatever look was on his face off of it. “No regrets. Definitely not too much. You just—I dunno, Steve, didn’t feel like you really meant it.” Grinning up as Steve narrowed his eyes, Bucky figured it would go one of two ways: either Steve was gonna be contrary and ornery and insist they talk about it, which would at least still be an improvement over ignoring it, or Steve was gonna be contrary and ornery and prove him wrong.

Steve suckerpunched him in the gut.

Bucky grunted and coughed, winded by the blow, and Steve stood up off the bed before he could recover. He didn’t look like he was going off to sulk, though; he walked with purpose, apparently unconcerned with Bucky’s struggles to catch his breath and stop trying to curl up protectively. Into the bathroom went Steve, and out of the bathroom came rummaging and clanging noises followed by Steve with—

There was a whole new reason Bucky had trouble breathing.

“I can make you feel like I mean it.”

It wasn’t a question, wasn’t even an offer; Steve was just telling it like it was. He dropped something onto the quilt next to Bucky’s legs, but Bucky didn’t know what it was because he’d been too focused on the other thing Steve brought out: a tin of Vaseline. He slowly twisted the lid off, eyes never leaving Bucky’s.

“You got three seconds to tell me no or you’re getting fucked tonight. Maybe I ain’t up for doing it myself, but I have thought and thought and thought about ways around that and I’m gonna try every last one of them if you give me half a chance.”

“Yes.”

Bucky spread his legs, opened himself up for anything Steve wanted to do to him. The only reason he hadn’t offered it up as an alternative when Steve voiced his objection to getting fucked was that, well—Steve couldn’t. But that was why Steve was the smart one, and he just kept Bucky around to do the heavy lifting and look pretty. Course he had a solution.

“Do it, Steve, come on.”

It was his fingers, first. Bucky more or less knew how this part went, had never done it but asked around in the right—dark and private—corners when he and Steve were figuring out how to woo each other. He knew Steve had done his share of getting answers, too, but either he’d talked to very different people than Bucky had or he didn’t care for their advice, because he was forcing two fingers into Bucky right from the start.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky tried to pull back on instinct, but with his legs flat and open on the bed and his hands up over his head, he didn’t have a lot of wiggle room. Plus Steve was quick as a viper. His fingers were small and bony as the rest of him, slick as sin with enough jelly that Bucky couldn’t feel the skin beneath, but shit did the stretch of them ache like nothing else. His ass squeezed down on its own, trying to protect itself, to force them out, but Steve refused to be moved. All that really happened was Bucky clenching tighter around his fingers, feeling them even more deeply.

“You coulda had this nice, if you’d asked,” Steve told him, all calm and natural like he was on about the baseball scores. “Slow and tender. A white bride on her wedding night with her childhood sweetheart. But you didn’t ask.”

He pulled his fingers out, shoved them back, twisted; Bucky’s hips jerked. “You wanted to hurt. You wanted to feel it. You wanted to provoke me.” On the last two words, Steve pushed his thumbnail into the stretched flesh around where his fingers jammed into Bucky’s hole. The pain was small and sharp, standing out against the overall burn and making Bucky swear and gasp again.

Steve’s hand rotated and he curled his fingers, jabbing and prodding until he found a spot that made Bucky flat-out yell. “So I hope this is what you wanted, Buck, because it’s sure as hell how I want it.”

From that point on, Bucky didn’t have a second to catch up or breathe or think. Steve was relentless, working that over and over without pause, without letting Bucky recover from the too-good, too-intense feeling that kept building up inside him. Jesus, he could barely stand it—couldn’t stand it, eventually, couldn’t control the shaking in his limbs or the pitiful noises he was making, like a hurt and scared dog with every vicious thrust of Steve’s hand.

“Fuck,” Steve breathed, never slowing. “Knew you’d be amazing like this. Look at you. Listen to you. Jesus, Bucky. I need—I wanna make it hurt more. Can I?”

Bucky had no idea if he answered that; if he did, it couldn’t possibly have been in English. He couldn’t even think with real words, much less get them out of his mouth, but something gave Steve the permission he needed because he drew his fingers out and out and then Bucky was empty, not getting jolted with overwhelming pleasure every half-breath. Something else pushed back in before he could really put himself back together, though, something even harder than Steve’s fingers had been, rounder.

Lifting his head a few inches took all the focus and effort he had, but fuck if it didn’t pay off in a shameful thrill when he saw the bristled head of a hairbrush sticking out up out of his ass. The handle—Steve was fucking him with the handle.

Or not fucking him, really. He left it there, let go and sat back on his heels to stare a second. Bucky’s senses felt dulled; he had something in him but it wasn’t moving, wasn’t stretching him or rubbing against that zapping spot or hurting him beyond the general ache of everything down there. Including his dick, which was dark and shiny with need but not ready to do anything about it now that Steve had stopped touching him.

Then Steve leaned down, face going to Bucky’s crotch, and he barely had time to get excited about Steve’s mouth on his dick and then remember it was a bad idea before he realized he wasn’t getting Steve’s mouth on his dick at all. Steve’s teeth sank into the inside of his thigh, bruisingly hard with no warning, and Bucky screamed and jerked and clenched so hard the hairbrush popped right out of him and hit Steve in the shoulder.

Looking about as startled Bucky was, Steve let Bucky’s skin slip out of his open jaw and sat up, blinking down at the area of Bucky’s ass. “What—” he started, voice and brows drawn tight, but Bucky needed him to stop thinking and get back to what he’d been doing.

“Don’t stop,” he begged. “Steve, please, it’s so good.”

Dragging his eyes all over Bucky, Steve nodded. Swallowed. “Yeah.”

He twisted the brush back in, and when he leaned up and over to start biting bruises all over Bucky’s stomach he pushed against it with his knee to stop it falling out again. When Bucky finally came, what felt like hours later, it was with dark purple spreading across his chest, a hairbrush in his ass, and Steve’s hand tight around his dick.

  
  


After that, he didn’t have to worry about pushing Steve anymore. Sure, Steve’d had a bit of a crisis of conscience the next morning when he remembered what he’d done and especially when he’d seen the evidence on Bucky’s body. He shook when he brushed feathery fingertips over Bucky’s bruises, looked like he was about to cry and maybe throw himself in the East River. But Bucky had held him through it, sworn they were okay, reminded Steve how much he’d begged for it.

“Maybe you ain’t quite right, sweetheart, but hey—neither am I. If I ever need you to stop, I can make you, but I’m game for it, for more, long as you are. Till the end of the line.”

It settled Steve. From then on, he was the one pushing and Bucky fucking loved it.

“Over the table,” Steve declared one morning without preamble, and just like that Bucky found himself tied down to it, hands pulled in opposite directions across his back, Steve casually fucking him with a single finger while he thought out loud.

[ ](https://imgur.com/zRDMtVh)

“I been thinking,” he said, “you like getting it rough.”

Bucky snorted against the wood. “And? Don’t get me wrong, I think about that too, but it ain’t exactly news.”

With an exasperated sigh, Steve pinched the rim of Bucky’s hole between his thumb and the finger inside hard enough to make Bucky yelp before he resumed working in and out and continued, like he’d never been interrupted, “And I like giving it to you personal. Don’t get me wrong, the way you take any old thing I feel like shoving in you like a whore is pretty nice, but it ain’t as nice really feeling you flinch around me.”

Fuck, Bucky was hard already and the edge of the table cut a line across his dick in the worst, best kind of way.

“My dick’s probably never going to be an option, as fun as that would be. And my fingers, well. They’re kinda small, right? But here’s what I’m thinking, Buck.”

Steve bent over him, weight on his forearms as he leaned on Bucky’s back and left a smear of Vaseline beneath his right palm. His mouth was closer to Bucky’s shoulder blade than his ear, since he was so short, but Bucky heard his dark whisper just fine: “I’ve got an arm that’s bigger’n any dick out there and I wanna give you the whole damn thing.”

  
  


The boiler was out again, but the goosebumps shivering Bucky’s skin owed little to the cold. He liked the chill. It kept him sharp, focused; with his eyes shut behind the cloth knotted too tight—perfect—around his head, he was more aware than ever of how exposed he was. He could feel every little draft and the responding prickle across his bare flesh.

He also liked it just because—just because he did. Being warm would’ve been too at-odds with the throb of discomfort that made him shift his weight on his knees. Though he tried to be sneaky about it, he never was any good at getting things over on Steve.

“You want a soft pillow instead?” Steve asked from a different part of the room than where Bucky had lost track of him.

Bucky snarled and tried to square up in challenge, but with his hands tied behind him all he could do was roll his shoulders back a bit. “Fuck off. You gonna do something or just leave me here with my dick hangin’ out until it freezes off?”

“Gosh, I don’t know, Buck,” answered Steve, voice sweet as vinegar. “Your dick seems to like hanging out.”

Just like that he was right there, bony fingers a vice around the growing excitement that gave Bucky away. It was no teasing caress; he squeezed harder than his small frame suggested he ought to be capable of. Course, Bucky knew better than believing that. Little Stevie Rogers had more fight in him than guys twice his size and he never pulled his punches, not even with Bucky.

Especially not with Bucky.

Because there was something in Bucky that made him flinch into the pain instead of away from it, that made his shout of pain sound more like the moans pro skirts threw out trying to lure longshoremen under the pier for business. Bucky wasn’t putting on a show, though—at least not on purpose. He just wanted so desperately.

Steve gave.

He curled his fingers in, nails biting into the tenderest part of Bucky, and kept them there while Bucky stifled his scream with his teeth against his bottom lip. His voice steady, like he was talking about the weather to a priest, Steve said, “You know, this last time I was laid up sick, I was so weak I pissed myself twice in a couple hours. So they had to do something to make it stop, something I’d never had done before in all my stays.

“It was awful.” Without letting up on the nails digging into Bucky’s dick, Steve thumbed a thick blob of Vaseline over the tip. “Embarrassing, uncomfortable. Didn’t exactly hurt but it was a near thing, and I hated every second of it. I couldn’t stop thinking about getting out of there, getting back...”

Something pressed through the slick right to the opening of his piss hole and Bucky jerked, swore, “shit, fuck, what the fuck—”

“...and doing it to you.”

Bucky fought himself to stillness in Steve’s iron grip as whatever it was kept pushing into him. It was so solid, felt so huge sinking into his dick. Steve hadn’t lied, it wasn’t painful, but it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Of course he hadn’t; things weren’t meant to go in that way. But Steve was making it go in, making him take it, and he found himself reacting the same way he did when Steve really put some effort into hurting him: he got so heated for it that he forgot to be worried and just needed more of it.

“Jesus,” he gasped. “Steve, holy shit. Fuck, you’re—you’re fucking my dick.”

“Well, wouldja look at that. You know, Buck, for a guy who’s always calling me a punk, you sure are eager to get fucked any way you can.”

He was full like he’d never been, not even when it was Steve’s whole hand up inside him, and it wasn’t done. It pushed in and in, all the way down, opening him up and plugging the space it made inside him all at once. It fueled an ache almost like hunger, a longing deep in his chest, in his stomach, in his dick.

It took a while for the words to filter through. Bucky shook his head, slurring, “Nnnn...”

Steve’s hands gentled, stopped, let go. A pathetic whine swelled out of Bucky at the loss, but he sobered up real quick when he heard the nerves that took over Steve’s voice. “No? Do you need to stop?”

“Don’t stop!” If he’d had his hands free he would’ve grabbed Steve’s wrists to keep him there. As it was, all he could do was push himself into where Steve’s grip had been and say, “Christ, don’t fucking stop. Just meant, you were wrong.”

Impossible as it was for him to forget about the thing invading his dick, he was suddenly a whole lot more aware of it when Steve squeezed his fist closed again. It felt like one giant bruise beneath his grip, crushed between Steve’s hand and the hard rod stuck down inside him. After his whimpered moan died off, Steve asked, “What was I wrong about?” The dangerous bite was back in his voice, almost as sweet as the pain.

Thinking wasn’t Bucky’s strong suit to start. Steve made it so, so much harder by jacking him roughly while he waited for an answer. It rubbed around the thing in his dick, like he was being stroked from the inside, too—but Bucky had a stubborn streak of his own and he couldn’t let the slur on his good name stand.

“What you said. ’Bout getting fucked any which way.”

“I’m wrong?”

“Yeah.”

“You trying to tell me that if I gave you a chance to bend over right now, leave your dick all stuffed full while I fucked you with my fist, you wouldn’t be gagging on your own drool wanting it?”

“Jesus. Jesus Christ.” Bucky just about embarrassed himself from that promising threat alone. “You’re gonna kill me. ’Course I would, but that ain’t—you said any way.”

“How’m I wrong?” Steve tugged Bucky’s dick to one side, getting better access to grab his balls with a thoughtful noise.

“Gotta be you. Any way you wanna fuck me, I want it. Need it.”

All the while Bucky babbled, Steve gave him a hard time: tugging at his balls, pinching them, crushing them like a vice in his fingers. It left Bucky gasping as he forced the words out. More than once he had to break off to grunt in pain, but he got through it without giving in to the instinct to squeeze his legs shut. He couldn’t even say if it would’ve been to keep Steve’s cruel hands away or to trap them where they were torturing him—all his reactions to pain and pleasure were mixed up so deep down, he’d given up on ever untangling them.

But when Steve gave his junk a vicious wrench, the agony knocked him so sideways that he couldn’t stop himself from jerking back. Steve let him go, both hands leaving Bucky’s skin, and probably watched with the smirk he always got when he was enjoying Bucky’s suffering as Bucky overbalanced. With his knees spread so wide and his arms still trapped behind his back, he had no way to catch himself—and Steve sure as hell didn’t help out. Bucky fell.

One shoulder slammed into the floor before the rest of him hit, which kept him from cracking his head open but twisted his arms something fierce and made the rope bite deeper into his wrists. His right leg also got trapped halfway beneath him, bent from how he was kneeling before he fell.

Of course that was the leg Steve straddled when he followed Bucky down. He didn’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet, but ninety pounds on a twisted knee was enough to take it from uncomfortable to a painful strain. Combined with the new throb in his shoulder from landing, Bucky was about ready to tap out—and almost as ready to beg for more.

Steve beat him to the punch either way. He curled around Bucky’s body, grabbed his head and his neck to hold him in place with the same steel that no one else ever expected from him, and took a break from plundering Bucky’s dick to claim all the empty spaces in his mouth instead. Bucky gave in to his tongue just like he gave in to the rest of him, took what Steve gave him.

[ ](https://imgur.com/NhGRI83)

When Steve was done, his hand closed around Bucky’s dick again and he asked, “Who said you were allowed to be such a sap, huh?”

And oh, Bucky knew that tone. Steve’d have a little smile on his face; not the mean crook of his lips that meant he was getting off on hurting Bucky, but the downright cherubic curl that had no right to look as right as it did on a five-foot-shit punk who who packed the meanest suckerpunch in Brooklyn—even if he was too upright of a guy to use it on anyone but his sweetheart. Just like his dirty tricks, it was a smile saved for Bucky, a way he showed Bucky how fond he was.

Bucky tipped his head back on a sigh instead of answering. Steve’s hand moved on him, slippery and cool with Vaseline and almost gentle enough to be called tender. Firm enough Bucky could feel it, though, and know from it that Steve meant another kind of business. After a few strokes, the thing stuck in his dick started to move, too: slid most of the way out, slow and easy and enough like the feel of blowing his load that he had to take stock of his tense muscles and aching, swollen balls to be sure he hadn’t. Then it pushed back in, and even less unsuspecting than the first time, he bit into his lip at the strange fullness of it. Good strange; so good.

Steve jerking him off while he fucked his dick, the sore pull of muscles in his leg, the warm bruise on his shoulder—maybe he really had cracked his skull open when he fell, then conned his way into Heaven.

He lost track of how many times his dick got emptied and refilled, but it reached a point where it was the openness that felt wrong. That was it for him. “Steve, I’m gonna—” His warning gave way to a groan as Steve pulled the thing all the way out and scraped his thumbnail down the underside of Bucky’s dick.

Coming hurt.

His bruised and tender balls drew up and it was like being squeezed by Steve all over again, then the spunk shot out of him—so damn much of it, he was a fountain—and he was so sensitive inside that it stung on the way. He mighta yelled himself hoarse, because his throat was sore by the time he was done, too. It left him limp and useless even after Steve leaned forward to push the rag up off his eyes.

“Rattle anything important?” he asked while Bucky blinked stupidly into the brightness.

Bucky pointed out, “Nothing important up there in the first place.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Climbing off Bucky, setting off a new twinge of cramping in his leg, Steve nudged his knee with a foot. “Come on, roll over over so I can get you untied.”

He gingerly worked his foot out from under himself and tested straightening the leg; not exactly thrilled with its lot in life, but he didn’t think it would cripple him. Didn’t make rolling over real easy, especially without the use of his arms, but he made it over and onto his knees and only trapped his sore dick between his thighs once in the attempt.

While Steve was picking at the knots that would no doubt leave a rash of burns around his wrists, Bucky finally thought to ask the question that had flown out of his mind the second after he’d first thought of it: “What the hell was that?”

Steve started laughing and kept it up so much he had to stop fighting the rope for a second. His hands were still on Bucky’s arms, and they shook him along with Steve’s amusement. “A knitting pin.”

“Jesus Christ. You stuck a knitting pin in my dick.”

“Want me to do it again?”

The rope dropped away and he turned to catch Steve up in a sloppy, heated kiss. All of him still felt too tingly to be much good at anything, lips included, but Steve responded with the same enthusiasm until he had to pull back and catch his breath.

“Damn right I do.”

  
  


The fellas at work whistled when they caught sight of him. “You get your ass kicked for your birthday or what, Barnes? Shit.”

Bucky grinned, tongue darting out to catch the blood that beaded when his lip split back open. “What, this?” He poked at the impressive bruising around his left eye, had to stop before the throb of pain got him an awkward situation in his pants. “You should see the other guy.”

Because the other guy—tiny, sickly, mean as hell Steve Rogers—he was fucking glorious.


End file.
